Offerings for a Life
by Elaine du Lac
Summary: "You won't tell me anything. Not about the Mirakuru, this other guy. . ." Oliver takes a different approach in the struggle to reach Roy. Instead of demanding calm and control from Roy, Oliver offers bits of himself instead. A study in Roy, Oliver, and the Arrow. Not meant to be slash. AU from 2x12 Tremors. Slight AU of 2x11.
1. Ransom

_"Obviously, he's forged some kind of connection to the vigilante. Maybe it goes both ways."_

_- Laurel Lance on Roy Harper 2x02_

* * *

"_You're late," * _the Arrow growled at him. Even crouched on his haunches in the middle of the empty warehouse that was their training area, he looked dangerous, like a predator poised to kill.

Roy was not new to the experience of being late, he'd long ago built a thick skin as a Glades-born kid, and little _uh-oh, sorry boss_ moments like these could hardly mortify him. But this was the Arrow. From afar, the guy was inspiring, someone Roy wanted to be like, to help, to work with, to be taught by. From up close, he made Roy nervous (no, he wasn't scared of him!), _pinging_ every one of Roy's 'danger! keep away' instincts, even while Roy tried to make a good impression so the guy would accept his help cleaning up the city. The strange mix turned Roy into a nervous mess every time he was in the vigilante's presence. It was embarrassing but he couldn't help it. He was certain he managed to look pathetically like an insecure kid and an overly eager to please puppy at the same time, especially in the beginning of their acquaintance. Now with the Mirakuru in Roy's veins, his anger often trumped his nervousness, frustration smothered his horrifically transparent desire for approval.

But not even the knowledge that Roy was far stronger than the Arrow seemed to make any difference as he approached the green-clad figure crouched completely still in the middle of the empty space. Roy tried hard to appear nonchalant and unapologetic, but he couldn't seem to be able to look the guy in the face, or even in his direction for longer than a second, though he was proud that he managed to keep his voice steady and casual when he opened his mouth to give his excuses- all true for once, thank god. He didn't want to imagine how the Arrow would take to being lied to.

"_I tried to get my girlfriend to leave town, but she won't." *_

His head turned to face Roy at that, his posture didn't tense visibly as he stood to loom over Roy as he usually did. But something was different this time. Roy's instincts told him that he'd somehow tread on a mini landmine though he had no idea how or why.

"_You _cannot _bring her into this." *_

Ah! Ok. It was about the vigilante's secrets. He'd never met anyone more wound up tight about keeping secrets and not letting people in than that guy. But Roy knew how much secrets could hurt, the power it had to destroy. He knew firsthand that secrets festered when kept, becoming more toxic with time. In that way, he felt that secrets were worse than the truth, which hurt when told but got better the longer you knew. His childhood was a great example of that. His ruined mother the model for all chronic secret keepers. No. He refused to lie to Thea. The Hood had it all wrong. How could he stand keeping all those secrets?

"_But how am I supposed to _lie_ to her and protect her at the same time? How do _you_ do it? How do you keep secrets from people in your life?" *_

"_By remembering it's the only way to keep them safe." *_

"_No." _Roy shook his head and hissed, his temper rising hot in his veins; the man had no idea what he was talking about! _"Keeping them safe is what keeps them safe! Telling people the truth. But _you_, you won't tell me anything. Not about the Mirakuru, this other guy. . . and you got me slapping water and hitting dummies instead!" *_

The Arrow opened his mouth to reply, paused, and closed it again. He stood still for a moment, gaze off to the side, deep in thought. He seemed to shrink a little bit, right before Roy's eyes. The transformation fascinated Roy enough that for a moment he forgot his frustration and the fire in his veins that Roy associated with the Mirakuru receded to a dull ache in his muscles.

"Maybe you're right," the Hood said after long minutes of silence. It sounded like a self-recriminating sigh of defeat. "Maybe what you need. . . is a ransom."

A what? From whom? Roy stared at the Arrow in disbelief as he started pacing the warehouse like a caged cat, looking both relaxed and coiled at the same time.

"You are your own enemy, Roy. I offered to train you so you could master yourself, your strength, your anger. But I can't do that if I don't have your trust. We'll just be running in circles, learning nothing but how to be frustrated with each other and ourselves." He paused in his pacing and faced Roy. Even with the mask, his gaze struck Roy with it's earnestness. _I really just want to help you, I _need _to, _it said. Something about that look reminded Roy of Thea, though there was nothing similar between the vigilante's narrow gaze, and Thea's wide, doe eyes. But the sentiment was the same. It threw Roy for a loop.

The Arrow looked away and moved to perch himself on a stack of crates, leaning his forearms on his knees, hands hanging loosely in front of him. It was the first time the man had ever sat in his presence, or looked like he wasn't ready to attack or defend at any moment. The disarming effect of his body language had Roy approaching tentatively without really noticing what he was doing.

"I kept telling myself that keeping the people around me in the dark was for their benefit, for their safety. But all along, I think I knew, that it was mostly about protecting myself. From them, from. . . everything." The vigilante seemed to be off in his own little world.

Roy shifted from foot to foot and the other guy seemed to remember he was there. The atmosphere was awkward.

"So. . " Roy began, "you're gonna buy my trust with your secrets?"

"No. More like an offering. Trust can never be bought."

Roy didn't know what to say to that except, "Alright."

"Sit down, Roy. You look like I'd just confessed my undying love for you. While I'm sure you're good looking, you're not my type."

Roy scrambled for a nearby portable table and a pile of junk to perch himself on. He could feel the flush spreading from his face and his ears all the way to his neck. _Did he just make a joke? At my expense? _"Did- did you just make a joke?"

"You think I can't?"

"That's not the point!"

The corner of the vigilante's mouth quirked in a tiny smile. Roy fought not to smile back. This guy was reminding him more and more of Thea in their uncanny ability to affect Roy with their sincerity. It was freaking him out just a little bit.

"His name was Slade."

The sudden non-sequitur had Roy blinking. "What?"

"You wanted to know about my friend, the 'other guy' as you called him, and how I knew so much about the Mirakuru. His name was Slade. He taught me much of the hand-to-hand that I knew. He was a mentor of sorts, and a partner. We fought together. At first, he taught me to fight because he needed someone to watch his back; later on, I'd like to think he kept teaching me because he wanted to."

Roy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees in an unconscious mirror of the vigilante's pose, and drank in the offered glimpses of the man behind the hood in attentive silence.

* * *

* Quoted from the Season 2, Episode 2, Tremors

A.N.: Not enough people write about Roy. Or Roy and Oliver. (Everyone's about Olicity. I loved Olicity at first, but now I'm just tired of it. Too much of a good thing, as they say.) This is not meant to be slash but feel free to wear slash goggles if you like. I have a few more ideas for the next few chapters. It will be more Arrow and Roy bonding moments and will be AU from the show. My story is character driven so there won't be a lot of complex plots or thrilling action (there ought to be some fight scenes of course), but there will be training and jumping around! Let me know if you'd like me to continue. Or if you just liked it! I'd love to hear what you think.


	2. Play

_Another exciting night fighting with a dog dish. . . _Roy sighed, breath ghosting out visibly in the chill air of the warehouse. His palm hit the surface of the water with a wet slapping sound. He could feel the Hood's presence, pacing leisurely back and forth behind him even if he couldn't hear his footfalls.

He slapped the water again. It was the only sound in the warehouse. His shoulders slumped even further. He felt like he was in school again, serving detention with a teacher. "How long am I supposed to do this thing?"

"I did it for a week," the vigilante growled in that synthesized voice of his, "and I never whined as much as you did."

Ignoring for a moment his disbelief at the idea of the deadly Arrow being reduced to slapping water like a beginner, Roy pounced on the implied information like a starving paparazzi journalist. "But you _did _whine about it!"

"I did," he replied easily, not a hint of chagrin in his voice. He even sounded a tinge amused. _Is he smiling behind my back?_

"Something funny?" Roy paused in his slapping. There was no answer, but Roy could feel the smirk in the air, coming from the Hood's direction and it dawned on him. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he accused, twisting around to face the other man. "Watching me squirm in boredom while I slap the crap out of this stupid, fucking bowl of water?"

Roy was right. The Arrow _was _smirking at him in what looked like genuine amusement. "It's my turn to inflict that punishing training technique on someone else." He shrugged his green-clad shoulders and threw up his arms in a _what can you do? _gesture. "It's a tradition."

Okay, Roy was curious. But he didn't dare ask. Or did he? Didn't the Arrow say he was going to be more open? Or was that a one time deal? He stared at the water bowl, smacking his palm on the surface of the water on autopilot as he weighed his chances.

"Was it that Slade guy?" The words were out before he could stop them. "Who- who had you slapping water for a week? To build arm strength?" _Wasn't he still weighing his chances? Well, shit. Too late now. _

Behind him, Roy sensed more than heard the pacing halt. Then the man was walking into his line of vision, his hooded head tilted down as always, but now there was a solemn air about the line of his head and the subtle slope of his shoulders. Roy suddenly felt like an ass for asking, though he wasn't quite sure why. "You don't," he started awkwardly, "have to answer if, you know, you . . . um . . . don't want to." Roy resisted the urge to slap himself in the face. _Stammer much?_

"The exercise was practiced by Shaolin monks to increase their striking strength," the vigilante explained, ignoring the first question. "We both know you don't really need to increase your striking power but I was hoping the exercise would train your mental and physical control. I realize now that it might be a bit too much for you to start with."

Roy frowned.

"Perhaps we should take a break and do something easier," the Arrow continued.

Roy stared, frozen in incredulity. "Do I even want to know what you think is 'easier' than this?"

"Don't worry," the corner of the man's mouth lifted in another tiny smile- they were appearing with alarming frequency nowadays ever since _that _night- "you'll like it." The Arrow turned on his heel and strode towards the open doors of the warehouse, the harsh lights from outside silhouetting his form in darkness for a brief moment. "Come with me," he grumbled. "Leave the dog dish."

Intrigued as all hell, Roy followed the man outside, the familiar stink of rotting fish and cargo ship fuel hitting his nose at the same time as a gust of damp, cold air nipped at his exposed face and hands. The Arrow led him away from the docks; weaving in and out of brightly lit streets and dark little alleys in the distinct direction of another one of Queen Consolidated's abandoned warehouses in the Glades, though this one was transformed by Oliver Queen into the newest hotspot of nightlife.

"Are we going where I think we're going?" he asked, staring at the green fletched quiver of arrows on the equally green back. _Why green? _he wondered briefly, but had the common sense to keep that thought to himself- _for now. _

"The backstreets and alleys around _Verdant, _yes," the Arrow answered as he paused just inside the shadow of a dilapidated building and then somehow melted his way into the darkened corners of the next street.

Roy rolled his eyes and hurried to catch up, just barely managing to make out the distinct shape of the man's quiver and bow in the darkness.

"As to why," the Arrow turned to him as they reached the alley behind the club where Roy dumped the club's garbage and recyclables, "I find this area makes a nice playground."

Roy raised his eyebrows at the word choice. _Play? _

Before he could ask the vigilante to elaborate, the man was running up the side of the building, propelling himself with nothing but inertia and expert hand and footholds. His jaw fell open a little. _This _was what he had in mind?

Roy grinned as he craned his neck to watch the figure scale the wall like it was a horizontal children's obstacle course. The Arrow was right, this was a lot easier than slapping water out of a bowl!

Above him, Roy made out the outline of the Arrow as he reached a broken off pipe segment jutting out of the wall, roughly three stories above ground. In a series of smooth, lightning-quick moves, he levered himself up on it with one hand until his torso cleared the pipe, planted a boot on the same pipe, and with a leap, knees tucked into his body, he was crouched on a fire escape rail, as still as a carved gargoyle. The whole climb had taken less than two minutes, though he could tell that the Arrow was deliberately taking it slow for his sake.

The man looked down at Roy from his perch, his hood betraying the angle of his head. He wasn't quite radiating smugness but Roy could still read a subtle challenge when he saw one. Before the Arrow could say the familiar "Now, you" line that Roy kind of hated by now because it preceded every stupid training exercise he'd had to do the past few days, Roy sprang into action. _I'll show him. This is nothing. I do this for fun all the time. Okay, maybe mostly to get away, but still. . . _

Taking a running leap, Roy ran up the wall, boosting himself the first few feet from sheer momentum. His fingers scrabbled for the nearest handhold a few inches to the left above his head. He managed to catch himself on it just before his momentum began to slow and his body succumbed to gravity. Without pausing to think or to catch his breath, Roy trusted in his instinctive connection to his physical surroundings and, planting a foot flat on the wall, heaved and pushed himself up.

For a heart stopping fraction of a second, he was running up the vertical surface without anything to grasp onto, and then he was wedged between the wall and the edge of a wood plank and steel scaffolding that was being used to repair the windows on the third floor. He grasped a metal bar and swung himself through the scaffolding using the construct like a set of monkey bars. Reaching the end, he swung forward to land on the ledge of an open window, close to the railing where the Arrow was crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet and watching him quietly.

Roy resisted the urge to flop onto his butt as he landed. His muscles would have been burning from the strain by now, before the Mirakuru; instead he felt only breathless as he looked down at the ground, far below him, and remembered that brief moment of danger when he'd let go of all supports in order to fly up the last few feet of wall. He flashed a grin at the ground, at the wall, and then at the vigilante as he tried to take slow, deep breaths, feeling his heartbeat slow to just above the regular pace- his normal pace now.

His grin disappeared as the Arrow vaulted up from the railing and vanished into the spot of darkness above, reappearing a second later under the flickering illumination of the streetlamp, several feet away and swinging towards the adjacent building. He took a moment to stare after the disappearing figure, face slack with surprise. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. _So that's how he wants to play it, huh? _Roy leapt to his feet, and with a crack of his neck, shoulder and finger joints, followed after the Arrow. . . a tad more slowly. Just a tad.

_I can do this all night._

* * *

Next Chapter: "Worth"


	3. Hot Girl

**Previously. . . **

His grin disappeared as the Arrow vaulted up from the railing and vanished into the spot of darkness above, reappearing a second later under the flickering illumination of the streetlamp, several feet away and swinging towards the adjacent building. He took a moment to stare after the disappearing figure, face slack with surprise. Then the corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. _So that's how he wants to play it, huh? _Roy leapt to his feet, and with a crack of his neck, shoulder and finger joints, followed after the Arrow. . . a tad more slowly. Just a tad.

_I can do this all night._

* * *

Two hours later, Roy landed what seemed like his hundredth jump of the night, tumbling head over heels onto the cement rooftop of yet another building. He picked himself up with a groan. The Arrow's deep, synthesized voice coming from within the shadows of the rooftop startled Roy into whirling around.

"Congratulations, kid," he said, sounding completely sincere, _the ass_. "You made it."

Roy only gave an angry grunt in reply; all his smartass comebacks gone along with his energy. Peering into the gloom, Roy made out the vigilante's outline, crouched at the edge of the rooftop and looking down at the night lights of the city.

The man made no move to acknowledge him when Roy approached and made himself comfortable on the cold ground beside the vigilante. A sharp wind tugged at both their hoods, threatening to uncover the Arrow's head for a moment before it died away. Roy stifled his disappointment, turning to look down at the city himself.

The city was beautiful from this vantage point. Though even from up here, the divisions in the city were obvious. The upper class districts were brighter, teeming with life and light and energy while the Glades were covered in a strange patchwork of light spots and dark spots, the life there hidden quietly in the dark spots, the residents like insects hiding from the revealing light.

Roy looked at the Arrow from the corner of his eye. What did the guy see when he looked at the city? _Is it the same thing I see?_ For a moment Roy thought of Oliver Queen grasping his elbow in an iron grip and getting in his face. _The world broke a long time ago, _he had told Roy, eyes more intense than he'd ever thought he'd see in a man who'd grown up with the world at his fingertips. _Is it the same thing Oliver Queen sees? _

"My teacher," the Arrow's voice broke Roy from his thoughts. Roy glanced to the side to find that at some point the man had moved from his ready crouch to an actual sitting position- like a proper human being who knew that _at ease _actually meant _relax_. "The one who used the water slapping exercise to train me," the vigilante continued, "was a woman named Shado." .

The Arrow paused and turned his head to look at him. At this distance, Roy could see into the shadows of the man's hood. Light-colored eyes stared out of the new mask that had replaced the dark green warpaint the man had on when Roy first met him on that subway car that fateful night.

"Do you remember how I told you of the woman Slade had loved?" the vigilante began, sounding hesitant, as if every word weighed on his tongue, and saying them taxed his strength.

"Who died because of something you did. . . or didn't do?" Roy completed for him. "Of course I'd remember that." _It's rare enough to see you being all human, I couldn't forget if I tried. _

"She taught me to shoot with a bow," the Arrow said with a subtle tilt of his head. "In the beginning, I couldn't even draw the bow properly. I didn't have the strength. So she had me slap water for weeks on end. "

A flash of white teeth broke through the darkness of the rooftop for a brief second. "In your defense, I didn't complain as much as you did when _I _was doing the exercise because she had this way of distracting me." The Arrow looked away but Roy could hear the fond nostalgia in his voice as he spoke of her.

"She would do all these flexible yoga poses in front of me while I slapped water out of a bowl. I don't know if she did it on purpose or not, but I was so distracted watching her that before I knew it, my bowl was empty and she'd be refilling it again." The man glanced at him briefly and Roy hastily shut his jaw with a clack.

"I can't do yoga," said the Arrow after a moment went by and Roy continued to stare at him, wide eyed and tongue tied.

"Please don't," Roy replied when he finally found his voice. He snorted. "I can't believe we're having an almost normal conversation about hot girls." Roy thought for a moment. "At least, I'm assuming she's a hot girl."

The Arrow made a strange sound that Roy took to be a laugh warped by whatever device changed the man's voice. "She was," he said. "Very hot, and very much a warrior."

"You said she was Slade's woman."

"Slade loved her," said the vigilante, "but they were never really together, I think. At least not like Shado and I were together. After she died, Slade implied that while he loved her, she only really loved _me_." The man shook his head, "I seem doomed to always be one third of a love triangle, no matter who I'm with."

There was nothing to say to that so Roy kept quiet. In the distance, a train passed by, the wheels chugging noisily in the tracks. To himself, Roy thought, _It wasn't just Slade who went crazy after she died, you did too, didn't you? In your own way and without the Mirakuru. _Roy couldn't imagine what he'd do if Thea died. She changed his life just as much as the Arrow did.

"Slade always said that she was a distraction," the Arrow said, looking off into the night sky where a sliver of the moon was starting to peek through a cloud, "but I think she made me. . . " he trailed off, trying to find the right words. He shrugged his shoulders. "She made me."

Roy caught what he didn't say.

_. . . what I am today._

* * *

A.N: That last part took me by surprise. I only planned on Oliver sharing about his time slapping water out of a bowl, maybe mention Shado a little bit. But Oliver went and started talking about love and all that deep stuff. I'm a little hesitant now because it might be a bit OOC for the boys to start talking about their feelings. I know they're not the type to do that. But my defense is that they are talking after a round of endorphin-inducing freerunning across the city while sitting in the dark. It's not the same as talking in daylight under ordinary circumstances.

Leave a review! Tell me how you liked it. Or not.


	4. Darwinism, Not

**Note: **Some talking in broad daylight this time! It won't be an easy conversation. This chapter takes the Oliver-Roy talk in "Blind Spot" and takes it to AU places.

Timewise, if you don't remember what happened in 2x11, "Blind Spot", this occurs _before _the Arrow offers to train Roy but _after_ Roy got injected with the Mirakuru.

* * *

"_I used to be a lot like you, Roy."_

_"I doubt that. I spent more time in the back of cop cars than limos, so. . ."_

_-Oliver Queen, Roy Harper 2x02_

* * *

Roy was busily dumping the trash in the little hidden alley behind Verdant when the familiar greeting, in an unfamiliar voice, had him freezing mid-motion, heart in his throat.

"Hello, Roy."

_He's here. Shit, shit, shit. He knows. _For a split second, Roy panicked at the thought of facing the Arrow, of facing his judgement and hearing that once again, he'd been weighed and found wanting. He had essentially gone behind the Arrow's back to do exactly what the man had warned him not to do and then made a serious mess of it by putting a man in the hospital with critical injuries.

It didn't occur to Roy until much later to wonder why he'd immediately assumed that the person greeting him was the Arrow. It was broad daylight; late morning in fact. And the voice was not the deep, synthetically modified voice of the Arrow. But then again, this _was _Roy's unofficial rendezvous alley with the Arrow, who _did _have the annoying tendency to sneak up- rather creepily- behind him. It didn't help that Roy had been waiting for the vigilante's violent version of an _I told you so_ for days on end.

He kept imagining seeing arrows coming at him from the corner of his eye, an angry presence in green telling him that the city was better off without his help because he destroyed everything he touched. All he was good for was taking a beating, not fighting crime. _There's a difference, _the Arrow had said. _Guess he was right._

But when Roy braced himself and turned to face the music, what he got was. . . not the music. It was Oliver Queen, looking at him with an amiable, but mostly plastic smile on his face, hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. Thoroughly relieved- and slightly disturbed by his own previous deer-in-the-headlights reaction- Roy snorted at the irony of the moment. _I'm happy to see Oliver Queen's face. What's next? Thea will decide that my hoodie doesn't need washing? Pigs flying?_

"Lurking in an alley," his mouth spewed out. Of course, he meant, _What the hell are you doing here? _And _why are you cornering me in a tiny alley, middle of the day or not, and blocking the exit?_

Roy's go-to defense for anything remotely related to authority was making itself known once again. (Not that Queen was really in a position of authority, he was just Thea's billionaire older brother. Who disapproved.) His sarcasm and cheeky comments had always toed the line between an I-dare-you-to-fuck-with-me aggressive defiance and a surivor's instinctive knowledge of their own vulnerability in the face of a bigger threat. The smart comments allowed Roy to assert his autonomy to an extent without being too immediately aggressive. Sometimes, it was a great way to test the boundaries of what he could get away with. But more often, it was simply a way for Roy to show his street creds and bluff his way out of thorny situations.

Roy grabbed the blue, plastic recyclable bin and went back to his task. "_That's_ not at all creepy," he said, in the blandest way possible while thinking: _You j__ust about gave me a heart attack, you son of a. . ._

From behind him, Roy heard what sounded like a genuine chuckle. "When I ran the club, I learned all the secret entrances," said Queen, sounding friendly and oh, so conversational, the smile dripping from his voice.

_Never let it be said that Oliver Queen didn't know his way around people. _The man was talking to him like they were old BFFs. It was probably good enough to get most people to lower their guard and start exchanging lighthearted comments about the old foundry's amazing secret entrances. But the friendliness only raised Roy's guard higher. _What does he want? Why's he talking to me? _Nothing good, Roy was sure. He kept walking, intent on doing his job.

Queen was probably here for that long overdue _stay away, from my sister, you piece of shit _speech and this was his warm up. It was strange how all he got from Oliver Queen, back when Thea first introduced him to her brother, was a very firm handshake and an icy glare. No hate speech, no threats, nothing. Roy thought Oliver Queen's non-reaction to his dating Thea was more unsettling than if he'd threatened to off him on the spot, or hire a killer to make him disappear quietly.

Behind him, he could still feel Oliver Queen lurking, _following_ him.

"I never got the chance to thank you for saving my mother's life," said Queen, out of the blue.

_Whoah! What? _

Roy stopped in his tracks and shot the man a disbelieving look. _Is that what he's here for? To thank_ _me? _Somehow, Roy had a hard time believing someone like Oliver Queen would go so far out of his way to corner Roy in a secret alley just so he could- what- _thank _him? Well, yes, it was his mother's life that Roy had saved singlehandedly. Still. . . Roy had Oliver Queen pigeonholed and pegged in a neat little box; in an instinctively drawn schema that mapped the things big and small separating Starling City's elite one percent and the masses of rats from the Glades like Roy. Oliver Queen personally tracking him down to a dirty alley, running after him as _he_ continued doing his job and basically ignoring the guy, all to _thank _him, was screwing with Roy's schema, his view of the world and of people. (Though how that schema had stayed intact after Thea came into his life and turned it upside down, Roy had no idea. He must have just pegged her as an exception and left it at that.)

_No. Thanking me is an excuse, a cover for something else._

Queen must have misinterpreted Roy's disbelief though, because he said, with a near-unnoticeable stutter, "Th-Thea told me. She said that you were very brave."

Or maybe he was pretending to misinterpret, if that little stutter was anything to go by. For a guy notorious for getting into a lot of typical rich kid delinquencies, the guy was seriously bad at backtracking in a subtle manner _and _ he was laying it on a bit thick with that 'brave' comment. Roy mentally shook his head and got back on his original errand: bringing the emptied blue recyclable bin back inside. At least, his schema of the world was safe for now. Roy could only handle one Thea Queen to skew his perspective, thank you very much. But if Oliver Queen wanted to play nice, Roy could play along. What's the harm?

Looking appropriately awkward at the praise- it wasn't hard, he just had to pretend the comment was sincere and the awkwardness would follow naturally- Roy threw back his own stuttered response. " I- I did what anyone would have done," he said. It was mostly the truth anyway. The truth was always the best cover for a lie. Saving people had always been Roy's first instinct, even as a child, though life in the streets taught him to tone it down out of self-preservation. Since the Arrow had saved him, Roy had been reconnecting back to that original instinct he'd lost when his father had died all those years ago.

"Not anyone." Queen continued smoothly, persistently, keeping in step behind Roy.

By this point, Roy was clutching at his blue plastic bin as if it was the only thing between him, Oliver Queen, and the really awkward and very suspicious conversation the man had brought with him.

"It takes a lot to run towards danger, " said Oliver Queen.

_What? Now _that's _blatant praise. _

"Not away from it," Queen continued in a softer tone, as he finally caught up to Roy, halting just beyond his personal space. The man sounded absolutely sincere. Not a hint or a whiff of anything else. But the most mind-bogglingly bizarre thing was the way he said it- it didn't sound like a platitude. It was as if Oliver Queen knew intimately just how much it took to run towards danger, instead of away from it. Knew enough that he could quantify the amount of courage necessary if he wanted to.

Question marks were multiplying like mad rabbits in breeding season in Roy's mind. The game of subterfuge and veiled agendas they'd been playing- or Roy thought they'd been playing- fell to pieces around him, and Roy had nothing left to respond with but blunt honesty.

He turned around and looked Oliver Queen in the face. This time his halting speech was uncontrived. "That. . . sounded like praise." Then, because the tide of honesty was sweeping him away- _damn it- _before he knew it, more truth than he'd intended to say was tumbling out. "I. . thought where I was concerned. . . you. . . didn't approve."

And there it was, out in the open, the elephant in the room; whenever Roy and Oliver were in the same room that is. Didn't. Approve. _"Does not approve" _was the phrase that Roy could practically see scrolling in neon, digital script above Oliver Queen's head whenever he saw Roy with his little sister.

Queen smiled and huffed. His expression was open and slightly sheepish, but mostly amused, as if he was privy to an inside joke that Roy wasn't getting. "I was being an overprotective older brother. _Nobody _was good enough for my little sister," he said.

"Think of it from my perspective," he went on to explain. "The last time I saw Thea before I got marooned on a deserted island for five years, she was a little girl of twelve, barely out of her 'boys have cooties' stage. When I come back home, she's playing around with Vertigo, clubbing all night like I did, and making out with spineless little. . ." he cut off whatever derogatory word he meant to say and tried again "one of her guy 'friends' in her room, with her shirt off."

Oliver Queen sighed. "It wasn't that I disapproved of you in particular." He leaned in and gave Roy an intent look, brows drawing down into a serious line. "But I needed time to get used to Thea being old enough to know what she's getting into." The corner of his lips turned up and he drew back. Roy could feel a joke coming on. "If anything, I'd approve of Thea dating someone like you more than if she'd chosen some spoiled, rich brat from her school, or that softie I'd caught in her room who'd taken one look at me and nearly wet his pants."

_Someone like me? Like street rat from the Glades me? Purse-snatcher boyfriend?_

"Someone I can respect," Queen elaborated, seemingly anticipating the one little phrase that would catch all of Roy's attention amidst Oliver Queen's little speech.

Roy was at a loss for words. He just stared at the man, the blue, plastic bin forgotten in his arms. His brain was busy shutting down and rebooting.

_Why? Why, why, why? Respect? _Even Roy didn't respect himself. And Thea cared about him a lot, Roy knew, maybe she even loved him. But _respect _him? That was another matter entirely. _What has Oliver Queen been smoking?_

Oliver Queen gave him a knowing look. He was smiling into Roy's face, looking down at him gently. The look on his face reminded Roy of some of the social workers who used to check up on Roy back when he was living under the system. It was a loaded look, filled with things that Roy had never been able to unravel or identify. All he could clearly get from it was: _I know. I understand. _Sometimes, Roy caught: _things'll get better kid, you'll see. _

"You're a survivor, Roy," the man offered simply, as though it answered the question Roy was dying to ask, and had probably already asked without knowing it. The guy seemed to be able to read minds (or read Roy). "And yet, you kept your heart intact. . . and in the right place."

Roy decided that it was too late in the morning to decipher cryptic statements like that. It had been hours since breakfast. He'd been working all morning cleaning up after last night's club scene and receiving ordered goods for the club's booze stash. Lunch was due and he was too hungry to deal with all the potential awkwardness this conversation seems to going into. Roy _really _didn't want to talk about his heart, or what _the right place_ meant.

Oliver Queen too, seemed to have decided he'd done enough heart-to-heart talks for the day, because he ripped the blue, plastic bin right out of Roy's arms and with a curt, "Go take a break, Roy. I got this," made off with it through the backdoor of _Verdant _without another word.

Roy stared at the door he'd disappeared through for a second, before shrugging and shelving, as he'd intended to do, most of the very strange conversation he'd just had with Thea's equally strange older brother, for later consideration. Maybe after lunch he'd ponder it. Or, Roy smirked, after a good run around the city rooftops this evening.

* * *

*Dialogue from "Hello, Roy" to "Not away from it" taken from epsiode 2x11, Blind Spot.

A.N: Please leave a review. Did you like it? What did you like? Did you not like it? What did you not like?

I'm planning more Oliver and Roy interactions next chapter on the theme of "Anger". Actually this chapter was supposed to be "Anger," but along the way it turned into a game of things said and unsaid, honesty and deception. Huh. Well, what do you know. The characters write themselves sometimes.

March 14, re-written because the scene seemed too. . . flat. And the organization of the. . . Well, it had room for LOTS of improvement, let's just say.

March 15, edited and revised again. What's wrong with me? Nah, I just needed to cite my sources and references for quoted material like a well-trained student.


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